


Playing a Different Game

by altilis



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-10
Updated: 2010-07-10
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:51:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/altilis/pseuds/altilis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're in a hotel suite watching the 3rd place Germany-Uruguay game (World Cup 2010).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing a Different Game

**Author's Note:**

> Written as the game was happening. Unbeta'd. Assume they're speaking Portuguese. Written from my Schmoop Bingo card.

"It's on." Ricardo called towards the suite's bathroom. He balanced the plate on his knee, careful not to spill any of the rice of paella on the plush sheets of the king bed. "Cris?"

"A minute."

"They've already kicked off."

There was an exasperated sigh from the bathroom, and then Cristiano finally came out from the bathroom, clad in (Ricardo's) blue Armani boxers. He looked at the paella on the table, but then crawled across the bed to flop down next to Ricardo. His hair as damp from a shower.

"Germany will win," Cristiano muttered, reaching up to Ricardo's plate and grabbing a prawn, eating it straight from his hands, and then licking the oil from his fingers.

"How do you know?" Ricardo asked, watching Cristiano clean his fingers. "Suarez is back on Uruguay's team."

"The octopus said they would," Cristiano glanced up, and reached for another prawn, but Ricardo moved his plate away. He frowned, and then looked back to the television with his arms folded over his chest. "We should have ordered some."

\--

They had moved on from the rice and seafood and onto the fruit, melons and strawberries and plump red grapes. Cristiano ignored his fork in favour of holding up the strawberries by hand, occasionally licking at the corner of his lips to capture any escaping juice. He stared up at the ceiling as the commentators rambled on in Spanish.

Something cold fell on his stomach, making his abs tighten and jump, and when he looked up, he saw a piece of cantaloupe lying on his stomach. "Sorry," Ricardo said sheepishly from beside him; he had been reaching over Cristiano to get to the fruit bowl. "I'll get it."

Cristiano looked back up to the ceiling again, savoring the rest of his plump strawberry, when he saw Ricardo's dark hair dipping towards his stomach and felt lips and tongue against his stomach. He arched up, and then pushed himself up onto his elbows just in time to see Ricardo draw back, chewing and swallowing the piece with a hint of a smirk.

"C'mon," He muttered, reaching up to cup his hand over the back of Ricardo's neck. Cristiano pulled him down into a kiss, tasting the melon still on his lips. "It's half-time." Then Ricardo moved, pressing their bodies together inch for inch, and Cristiano ground up into that warmth.

\--

"Oh," Cristiano said, lifting his head from Ricardo's shoulder. "Oh…they're already done."

"They are?" Ricardo breathed against Cristiano's neck, his hands cupping his buttocks.

"Yeah." Cristiano pushed himself up to sit on Ricardo's stomach; somehow they had moved so that Ricardo's head could nearly lean back off the foot of the bed, and the television was right in front of Cristiano. "Germany won."

Ricardo's hands moved up and down Cristiano's sides, "You want to watch the commentary?"

Cristiano found those hands with his own, entangling their fingers loosely and leaning forward against Ricardo's arms. "No—it's all the same."

"We'll watch the championship tomorrow, Cris," Ricardo reminded him, pushing back playfully.

"I know." Cristiano leaned forward more, and then leaned forward to pin Ricardo's hands down into the bed and land a kiss on his forehead. "But I want more now."


End file.
